


Appli-cat-ion

by Synergic



Category: In the Heights - Miranda/Hudes
Genre: F/M, Gen, Navigating relationships, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28821987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synergic/pseuds/Synergic
Summary: Bodegas and cats go together the same way a 99¢ coffee needs a glug of cream.
Relationships: Sonny & Usnavi (In the Heights), Usnavi/Vanessa (In the Heights)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Appli-cat-ion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiraMira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMira/gifts).



Real New Yorkers know that bodegas and cats go together the same way a 99¢ coffee needs a glug of cream. In other words: it’s not impossible to manage one without the other, but damn would everything go more smoothly if you’d gotten that little bit of help up front.

“No way.” Usnavi counters when this argument is presented to him. “You know I’ve got allergies.”

Sonny makes some kind of gross skeptical sound that starts in his nose and ends up coming out of his mouth. “Bro, if your allergies were that bad, I think you would of noticed she’s been living behind your stash of _fresa_ Jarritos for like three weeks now.”

It’s not Usnavi’s stash, this is a business and lots of people like their soda sweet, but all of that is besides the point. “You've been feeding it for weeks?”

“Chillax, cuz, nobody’s stealing your friskies. I put money in the register every time!”

Sonny’s ‘every time’ is probably a 50% maximum as proven by endless bottles of Mexican Coke and Yoo-hoo over the years, but that’s a whole other argument, which Usnavi is not getting into today. His cousin’s hands are outstretched now, held at a careful, flat level. Like he’s all that’s keeping Usnavi from popping off. This means Sonny is no longer petting the tri-colored cat in question, the lady of the hour, the apparent long-term squatter who definitely has not been paying Usnavi rent. 

Left to her own devices the cat sails across the room, tail up like it’s a bumper car wire that keeps her on track. She winds around Vanessa’s legs. Vanessa, who is apparently also a traitor, coos and squats down to play with her. Which is hella cute, but Usnavi’s got to think of the big picture. “If she was a real bodega cat, she’d be living on mice and rats,” he points out.

“Bro, it’s not her fault we don’t have them!”

It’s difficult to argue about that. _Mus musculus_ are a fact of life in NYC, but Usnavi’s damn proud of the lengths to which he’s gone to make sure that there is nada, zip, and zilch for them in _his_ shop. He wipes an imaginary coffee spill off the plastic-covered countertop and doesn’t come up with so much as a lost grain of sugar. He still feels called out and a little awkward, yeah, but sort of proud too. Which is where his fatal mistake comes in. He nods and gives up his inch. “Okay, that’s true.”

Sonny’s got a new light in his eyes, the same as when he’s winning a debate about the systematic destruction of neighborhood safe spaces or a new waste of resources by the MTA. “And if you keep her, you never will. Right, Vanessa?”

The cat, who is clearly an evil genius, chooses this moment to chirrup endearingly and push her head into Vanessa’s cupped palm. So Vanessa doesn’t answer right away, just tucks her legs a little further under her and makes baby-baby-baby noises until the cat climbs up into her lap. The enterprising animal is still too wary to sit but confident enough to plant all four paws on Vanessa's thighs in a way that, to Usnavi’s somewhat jealous eye, means business.

Vanessa scratches the cat's butt. Then she looks up at him through that long wave of silky hair. Her lips are pursed and she looks kissable-- like always --but over the last few months Usnavi’s learned it’s important to pay attention to Vanessa the person and not just Vanessa the girl of his dreams, so he pushes the thought aside for later, takes the picture and reframes it. She looks thoughtful. No, honestly? Surprisingly serious.

“A cat’s a lifetime commitment,” she says when she's done considering. Which, okay, cats aren’t gerbils but _a lifetime_ is a little overly dramatic. It’s on the tip of Usnavi’s tongue to say just that--

He catches himself.

Vanessa, with her carefully made-up eyes digging holes into his chest, isn’t talking about the cat.

It’s still new, their thing. It’s gained a name now (dating, officially) but its tenure is still tenuous. Vanessa, the girl who’s juggling her fluctuating bank account and her moody messed-up mom and a job that’s still a day to day thing while the salon finds its feet in a new neighborhood, has always pushed herself to do without stability.

But that doesn’t mean that she can’t want it. 

And it doesn’t mean that he can’t try and give it to her, either. If the cat's gonna stay, then the bodega's got to do the same.

“ _Gorda_ ,” he says, pushing the word out at rapid fire speed. Vanessa’s mouth falls open in shock, and he can see the sparks about to fly . . . before she realizes what he’s actually doing. The click of her teeth turns into the flash of a grin instead of a bite. 

Sonny, one step behind, busts. There’s an offended “What the hell, man? _Cabrón_ \--” from him that Usnavi just knows is on Vanessa’s behalf.

“Gorda,” Usnavi repeats, as calmly as he can when there’s laughter pulling up the corners of his mouth. “If we’re keeping the cat, I get to name her, and it seems to me like she’s gonna grow up to be a real fatty. A totally spoiled brat.” He lifts his eyebrows at Sonny, playing this completely, gloriously cool, like he didn’t just do a u-turn on the freeway of life. No burned rubber smell in his nostrils, no way. “Unless you wanted to call her Killer?”

Sonny crosses his arms over his chest, defensive. He mumbles when he gets like this, but Usnavi’s used to that-- hears every word over the buzzy background radio. “I was thinking we could name her Claudia,” he mouths.

Which is just a one-two punch of unfair.

Vanessa, who’s smiling at Usnavi like he’s doing something right this whole time, even though in retrospect nothing but stupid dick-waving shit has been coming out of his mouth, finally looks down at her lap instead. The cat seems to have decided to stay too, and she's molded herself into a big comfortable loaf of black and white and rosy gold. She looks soft. They both do. 

“So . . . Claudia’s good,” Usnavi allows. He means he’s sorry for being a dumbass even if he can’t quite say it, but fortunately for him everybody here speaks the language of posturing. They know. Most important, Vanessa knows. She tickles the cat’s ears with no further argument. 

“Yeah,” she says. “We’re gonna do that instead.”

_We._

A _lifetime commitment._

Wow. _That’s_ a lot to unpack.

But not with Sonny in the house, whooping so loud he scares the cat, who digs her claws into Vanessa, who curses but doesn’t dump the brat off her lap, just sucks in air through her teeth and laughs along with Usnavi--

Because all of them are where they’re meant to be, in the end.


End file.
